Category Archives: hocus pocus

The cold that I was convinced I’d contracted yesterday has mysteriously vanished; the only possible explanation is that I literally shat it out of my system. All the nonsense about dysentery being responsible for millions of deaths in third world countries, its literally shit, right. It’s their immune systems responding in the logical way for fucks sake. The World Health Organisation, Medicine San Frontieres, Red Cross, the whole lot are stupid cunts who know nothing. I’ll tell you something else, most of the ‘at risk’ third world kids, the ‘starving’ ‘ill’ ones? All have fat stomachs; too many crisps and sweets. It’s a fucking con, I’m just sorry Geldof and Mr. Bono got dragged into this mess.

Yesterday at work was a bit of a pisser. We have a member of staff here, he’s an anachronism, a rotund old duffer with a comb over and cut glass accent, camper than Quinten Crisp doing ballet on Doily, he’s an ex-headmaster of a public school for musically talented boys until a stroke forced an early retirement. He’s only just 60 but is as fragile as a 90-year-old man standing in the eye of a storm; everyone is very fond of him, so when he didn’t turn up for work earlier this week a few eyebrows were raised. It was very out of character of him to not ring, I mean this is a chap who calls to tell us when he’s going be 5 minutes late. When he didn’t show up the day after that, despite numerous calls to his address and ringing round hospitals (he has recently been having tests and is on some heavy medications for a multitude of problems) I called the police.

The officer at the end of the phone took the matter seriously, after being asked pedantic questions about my colleague that just stopped short at the diameter of his right bollock I was informed by plod that they’d check out his property and get right back to me. A sense of gloom descended over the office, everyone convinced he was lying dead in his flat in Soho with his beloved cat, emaciated and shivering, licking a cold staring eyeball.

By 4pm I’d not heard anything so I called the police again. Bafflingly there was no record of my previous call; infuriatingly I was passed from one Police Station to the other in order to speak to someone that could help. Finally an officer took the matter seriously and assured me he’d dispatch a car to my colleagues address. Following the 30-minute call I went outside for a cigarette when my mobile rang. It was the police again telling me they were going to send a car, now. I told them that another police officer had arranged for that and politely suggested they fucking well communicate with each other and that my confidence in their ability to do one simple thing was being compromised to breaking point. It was just then the officer put me on hold. I was then informed of the matter thus, ‘Mr. Piqued, yes, a car was despatched to the address of your colleague 45 minutes after you called, he’s fine’.

Bank holiday weekend so there may or may not be a piqued on Monday. Whatever.

Right, weekly round up of the perverts and weirdos that happen onto this site without personal recommendations. Oh, would the person/people who regularly enquire about the size of Big Brother’s Ziggy cock fucking die, I was saying Ziggy IS a cock, anyway, it’s minute. Happy now?